The Man from Bar-20
Having changed the brands from the original CL to an equally sprawling GB, he returned to the cabin, unsaddled, and entered, stepping high over the sill. No one was there and nothing had been disturbed, but when he looked for the thread he found it snapped and lying on the floor.
Starting a brisk fire he hung his wet clothes before it on crude tripods made of sticks, hastily ate a substantial breakfast, fastened the shutter of the window, hung the gold pan over the closed door to serve as an alarm if anyone should enter, and in a few minutes was asleep.
Across the creek, high up on the great ridge, a man lay behind a bowlder, a rifle in his hands, and he kept close watch on the cabin. Waiting a reasonable length of time, he finally arose, waved his hand and settled down again, the rifle covering the cabin door. In the pasture another man emerged from a thicket and hurried toward the canyon, swearing softly when he saw the changed brands. It took no second sight to tell him what the original brand had been. Emerging from the canyon he paused, glanced up at his friend, who made a significant sign, debated something in his mind, and then, pulling out a notebook, scrawled something in it and tore out the page. Creeping softly he reached the cabin door, stuck the page on it and then hurried away to join his friend.
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